


Get Your Shit Together, Man

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Avengers UnPacked [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Look, people are still encouraging me to have fun in this A/B/O AU, so that's what I'm doing.  You haters leave me alone.  It's playtime.~~~Pain, endless, a sea of it, choking him, and then, the voice again, “Let it go, James.”No one calls him that.  No one ever called him that.  He shouldn’t- there are- he’s the asset, that’s- the pain things happen to the asset, not to James- and no one calls him James, not anymore.  No one has ever called him James, except- except no, that’s not right, someone did- someone-So. Much. Pain.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Darcy Lewis/Jane Foster/Thor, Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Avengers UnPacked [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623790
Comments: 18
Kudos: 77





	Get Your Shit Together, Man

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is what happens when I read a recommended story that turns into reading TEN A/B/O fics, find out that there are no RULES for this shit, and decide, "Well, fuck it, if everyone's having fun in this sandbox, I'm going to, too."
> 
> You don't have to like it, I promise. But I had a whole lot of fun writing it.
> 
> Beta'd by my brave jf4m and mindwiped, who are easily the most courageous people on the planet, because I threw this at them and said JESUS CHRIST I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I'M SORRY, and then they corrected my spelling and caught my errors like the pros they are, anyway.
> 
> I've put links to the fics I read to learn about A/B/O in the end notes of the first story.
> 
> Every remaining mistake and all the broken things about the rules of this AU belongs to me. Me and 3 AM, baby.

_Pain._ Goddamn, _goddamn_ , so much _pain_. As familiar as it is, it has never become welcome, and right now, right _fucking_ now? It’s every pain he’s ever felt, piled onto each breath. He’s not sure he can survive the experience. Not sure he can survive being nothing but pain. Not sure he wants to take another breath, to be brutally honest. Can’t be worth it. _Goddamn_.

Pain, endless, a sea of it, choking him, and then, the voice again, _“Let it go, James.”_

No one calls him that. No one _ever_ called him that. He shouldn’t- there are- he’s the asset, that’s- the pain things happen to the asset, not to James- and no one calls him James, not anymore. No one has _ever_ called him James, except- except no, that’s not right, someone did- someone-

So. Much. Pain.

 _“Let it go,”_ repeats the voice in a thundering roll, ripping the waves of pain, drowning him in them. He gasps, but he doesn’t want to- wants to just- stop. Breathing. _Goddamn_.

He would- he wants to- he would _let it go_ if he could figure out- he’s not _holding it_ , okay? Just take it- just-

~~~

“Take it,” groans the assassin- groans _Bucky Barnes_ \- shaking with shivering convulsions.

He looks horrible, Peter notes objectively. The WWII legend is starved, the skin across his cheekbones stretched tightly, his color far too pale. He’s coated in a layer of sweat and grime, naked except for the blanket draped across his lower half. His greasy hair is matted and probably becoming worse with every toss of his head, every shudder. Maybe they should- maybe this isn’t the right time to- Peter flashes a glance up at the Scarlet Witch, bent over the assassin’s head, one hand on either side, her face a rictuous of concentration and snarling frustration. 

Her brother sits beside her, leaning back in his chair, silent, somehow hovering despite his posture. His eyes have been locked on her face as she frowns and snarls, her fingers shifting with the tension of -whatever- she is doing to the assassin- to _Bucky Barnes-_ that makes him arch and shiver and moan words that don’t make any sense. He looks _fat_ , next to Bucky’s gautness. So do Peter’s hands, in his own lap.

The words were in English, mostly, but there had been that string of Russian, too, early on.

Thank God Alpha’s not here for this part, Peter thinks for the hundredth time, as the assassin whimpers and jerks, his hand clutching at the blankets, shifting them again. They’d started up above his shoulders, but Peter’s not supposed to help flip them back into place when the assassin- when Bucky- writhes, and now they’re down on his hips, and if he messes with them any more, well… this show is going to get so much worse. Luckily, this time the assassin pulls them up, instead of pushing them away. _Whew_.

Peter glances at the clock. Five hours. It’s been five hours, and he can’t help but feel like that’s too long for this level of sheer effort. Too long, too exhausting, too- too much of a battle. 

Harley shifts on the couch where he settled, under the blanket Sam had spread over him when he’d drifted off to sleep. Peter can’t help but feel a little envious. He’d like to stretch out, too, stretch out and have this be someone else’s problem, but the assassin- _Bucky Unbelievable Barnes_ \- had come out of the alley for _Peter_ , had snarled, _Mine_ , and literally clung to him as Peter took them both forward into that first ring of light.

Peter might be sheltered by the Pack, an omega kept safe and warm, for the most part, but he knows something about power and responsibility. It doesn’t matter that the assassin gave him this power, and he didn’t want it. He has the power to compel the man to come into custody. That makes Bucky Barnes Peter’s responsibility, now. Probably. _God_. 

The assassin begins to pant again, his muscles jerking, tensing. His hands- both of them-rise up to fend off- what? What attack? What is the Scarlet Witch _doing_ in there?

~~~

_“This, too_ ,” commands the voice that rolls through the pain, forcing him back under it.

 _This too, what?_ ! He wants to scream at the voice. _This, too_ , what? What does it want? Why won’t it just- 

_“Every last trap,”_ the voice says firmly. “ _Every last one, James Buchanan Barnes.”_

Fine with him. Just take them, already, just- whatever- just do it, then. Just- just let him stay above the darkness. Please. Love of God, please. 

Or maybe, no, let him sink below it. Let him sink softly into that darkness. Let him go, let it be done, let- let him _rest_.

 **Base Programming SubOptimal** , states another voice, louder than the first, echoing through the pain with sparks that stop everything, make everything impossible. Every breath becomes too hard to force his way through, and then, slowly, every heartbeat becomes too weighted as well. Everything is sinking, sinking, and he can’t- he can’t-

“ _No_ ,” insists the first voice, serene, pushing back the weight, pushing back the heaviness, and he heaves a breath, not sure if that feeling is _grateful_ or just _exhausted_. “ _No, you shall not have him.”_

Have _who_?!

~~~

The asset’s body rears up, suddenly, one long arch from heel to head, impossibly high over the bed, feet attempting to find purchase at this new impossible, spine-breaking angle.

Sam shouts, “Whoa, man!” and jerks alert from the bored doze he’d sunken into around hour three of watching Wanda do… nothing visible… to the writhing man before her.

Quicksilver has a hand on Sam’s arm before Sam can do anything further, holding it from touching the two on the bed. “You must not break the link,” he reminds Sam, again, before turning his head and glaring at Peter. “You, omega, **stay still** ,” he commands, using Alpha tone.

“Hey, not cool, man,” protests Sam, frowning, as Peter’s mouth drops open to gasp air, fighting that compulsion on principle because the alpha isn’t Pack and doesn’t have the _right_. Tony’s gonna lose his mind when someone tells him. “You can’t just-”

“You endanger her,” snarls Quicksilver, clearly defensive.

“He’s just a pup, he wasn’t- neither of us was going to touch them,” protests Sam. “Get your shit together, man.” 

Quicksilver releases his hold on Sam’s arm with a snarl and then shoots Peter a glare for good measure. “My shit is fine,” he informs Sam bluntly. 

“She’s going to be fine,” tries Peter, a little nervously, swallowing the desire to placate the alpha by sliding to his knees. The geis of the alpha’s voiced command still holds him in place, but he’s not usually so jumpy, so quick to let nature override nurture. It’s just… it’s just been a long night, that’s all. Peter’s tired, that’s why he wants to kneel. That’s all. He’s just tired, it’s just biology.

“She will be,” agrees the alpha shortly, shooting him a dark, burning look.

They settle back into their chairs, ignoring the man in the rictuous pose, panting, gasping for breath, in front of them. Ignoring him because there’s nothing they can do for him, right now, but sit here and not touch him, apparently. Peter sniffs the air. At least there’s the faint scent of brownies to enjoy.

It’s hours later, yet, when the Scarlet Witch draws a low, deep breath that makes her brother bound forward in his chair and hum inquisitively.

“It is done, for now, I have- all I could give, tonight, I have given,” she sighs, in a voice that cracks and breaks after long hours of disuse.

“Well, good,” says Sam after a very long, very awkward pause. “Is he-”

“He will sleep,” she says thickly. “As will I. At least a half-day, at least 12 hours. You may call your doctors to do what they must to clean him and help him to gain health. I will- I need rest,” she says in a thick voice, and Peter realizes how young she is, suddenly, like a shock. 

How young and gravid, with her first litter, no doubt. Her brother rumbles, and she collapses forward into his arms, burrows there. 

God, can Peter relate. That’s all he wants to do right now, too. Maybe Sam’ll let him snuggle for the rest of the night?

“He will- he will sleep through all of it, if it- if it is meant to help. I could not- there are traps, there are still _things_ , for self-preservation, I cannot- they are too deep. But they are not tied, anymore, to the- the _thing_ , the- bah. There are not _words_.” She takes a deep breath, her words almost choked with the tears already falling from her eyes, her brother making soft crooning noises into her hair, his strong hands wrapping around her body, pulling her into his lap.

Sam nods and rises, to go to the com system and begin requisitioning people, supplies. 

Wanda turns blindly to look at Peter and says lowly, her voice raw with anguish, “You- should not leave. You are- you became- the key. The key to a great many locks, poor soul. Poor lost soul. I have- I have not the time, the strength, yet, to get rid of the locks. But I can- he is safe, now, I believe. Safe enough, anyway,” she adds, a little uncertainly.

Harley makes a disbelieving noise and she repeats firmly, “He will sleep. I must. Brother, please-”

“Where is our room?” asks Quicksilver, coldly.

“Here, I’ll take ya,” offers Harley. “Pete, I’ll grab some, like, stuff for you. Couch’s fine for a nap, but you’re gonna want pillows and blankets from your own nest.”

“Yes, those would help,” states the exhausted woman obliquely, leaning on her brother to help herself rise. “Grab enough for the soldat, as well.”

“I will,” promises Harley, after a long pause and a confused glance at Peter. Peter shakes his head- there’s just too much going on to slow it all down and explain it. 

“All right, doc’s on his way,” announces Sam. “Or her way. Whichever. He’s going to need intravenous _everything_ , I can tell.”

“Good,” declares the woman, waving for Harley to lead the way, patting the arm of her brother. “Relax, Piotr. All will be well. I merely need- sleep. Deep sleep. To rest.”

“The whelps-” her brother begins, and Peter has never been more grateful to a closing door because the man radiates nervous Alpha energy. While he can’t blame the guy- Tony’s never exactly thrilled to have either one of them around under the best circumstances- he also doesn’t want to have to deal with it anymore, himself. Being commanded by an alpha isn’t fun when it’s Steve or Natasha. Being commanded when it’s some outPack jerk that Omega doesn’t even like? Much less fun. Muuuuch less fun.

Sam glances over at him, lips pursed, and says, “That couch fold out? Not leaving you in here alone.”

Peter blinks back grateful tears and shakes his head while replying shakily, “I dunno. Maybe?”

He stands, and takes a few steps towards the couch, and the man on the table shivers, snarling in his sleep, one hand lurching clumsily toward the space where Peter had sat, those long hours of waiting.

Uh-oh. 

That’s- that’s not great. 

_You have become the key._

That’s… really not great.

Peter thinks about the couch helplessly, his eyes begging Sam to find a solution, here, because Peter is ALL OUT of solutions, thanks.

Sam purses his lips and motions for Peter to sit back down in the chair.

Peter swallows.

Yeah. That’s not great.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm alive! Life has gotten crazy and there's no good way to let you know I don't have the time to write, so I'm unable to predict when I will be posting. I haven't abandoned anything- I've got the next several chapters all plotted out! But I used to have chunks of 3-4 hours a day to write, and those hours have disappeared. I'm lucky to squeak in thirty minutes, some days. And I don't know when that will end. SO. Know that I haven't abandoned any of the stories, I'm just frantically squeezing them out in little drip-drops instead of in torrents of words.
> 
> Please feel free to shout out in the comments so I know you're okay. 
> 
> Looking for a hit of this universe while you wait for me?! Check out Orchidaexa’s Daredevil, Deadpool, and Spidey story, written in this AU: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073085


End file.
